"Hold on," cried Ned seeing that Alan was ready to run up the stars
and stripes. "Just a moment. Are you all ready, Mr. Mayor?"
"All ready," came the answer from the town official, as he stood on
a box, his hat off and a revolver in his hand.
"With a western salute I christen this balloon the 'Cibola,'" he
exclaimed, and a shot punctuated his speech. "Good luck and
goodbye!"
As the shot sounded Alan's flag ran fluttering upwards. Ned's eyes
took one final look fore and aft and then he leaned over the car for
the last words for which all were waiting.
They were on his lips and the eyes of twenty straining men were
fixed on him to hear the command, "Let go." One nervous attendant,
apparently thinking the order had been given, threw up his arms with
a shout.
At that instant there was a second sharp pistol shot, and a quick
cry from the street outside the corral.
"Hold on there, all of you!" shouted Ned. His dream had rushed back
to him with a sickening chill. Had some one shot at the towering
bag? "Hold on!" he yelled.
At that moment there was another shout and Bob Russell, his face red
with the sun and his shirt wet with perspiration, walked into the
corral.
Pages:
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148